


Red Seal and American Flag Stamp

by Soulbutnotasoldier



Category: No Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-02 00:15:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4040119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soulbutnotasoldier/pseuds/Soulbutnotasoldier





	Red Seal and American Flag Stamp

Beads of sweat run down Carver’s neck, seeping into his undershirt. His brunette hair mats against his head, bearing the resemblance of a soaked mop. The stench of oil and grease consumes the air, while cars line up against the wall, one after another being worked on. Yells echo through the room as instructions are passed along.

It’s a Sunday morning in 1969 and Carver is about ready to burst. Only thirty minutes in and he is already through with it all - work, people, life, everything.

***

Some big shot corporate-ass had come in the minute the shop had opened to complain about his '68 Cadillac; the guy's clutch was slipping. He couldn't believe I was charging him two hundred to get it fixed. He yelled up a storm that got boss giving me the stink eye. Once the guy had left, only paying fifty, my boss had me on dirt work, cleaning out engines and changing tires.

I know the old man has it out for me, wants me gone from the shop. Thinks I'm some pig headed kid. You know who's the pig head? He is! All that guy ever does is sit back and make everyone else do his work. He's a lazy, good-for-nothing son-of-a-gun. Only reason I even work for him is the damn money. If not for that, I'd be out of here.

Even now, I can barely resist the temptation to walk over there and give him a word or two, show him he can't push me around like some dog. Truth is though, is that he can, and there ain't nothing I can do to change that.

***

“Alright boys, start packing it in! Day’s over!”

The words are followed by a loud smack, indicating the shop owner had gone back into his office. Carver looked at the door with resentment knowing full well the man was counting the money he had made. “Scum”, that's what Carver thought, “that man was scum.”

Carver packs his bag of tools, gives one last look to the beat up Bug he was working on since mid afternoon, and leaves. The streets are crowded as others make their way home. Carver pushes through the crowd, finds his way into an alley, and starts the trek home through back alleys and dark streets.

The house buzzes quietly as Carver enters. His brother is in the kitchen finishing his homework, and the radio is playing quietly in the background. The living room coffee table is littered with mail. One letter stands out among the rest - one with a  red seal and American flag stamp. Carver continues on, into the kitchen.

"Joey boy," Carver says happily as he shakes Joey’s shoulders.

“Stop it, Car! It’s not funny! I’m not ten anymore.” A smile forms on Carver’s face as he sees his little brother trying his best to shake Carver’s hands off him. He chuckles as Joey finally turns and pushes him away.

“Okay, okay, I get it. No bugging the little kid.”

“I’m not little, Car! I'm thirteen years old. I deserve some respect.”

“Yeah, yeah. Come back to me when you’re taller than me, then maybe you can ask for that.”

“Just you wait, I’ll be taller than you, I promise you that.”

The two brothers look at each other with dead seriousness until Joey cracks a smile. Bouts of laughter erupt from both of them, one snicker instigating the other to laugh even louder. Tears emerge from their eyes as they try to catch their breaths, and Carver pats Joey on his back, before making his way to the refrigerator.

For an hour Carver chops onions, cuts peppers, boils water, fries meat, cooks pasta, and pours tomato sauce. Dinner is the one thing Carver can admit to enjoying. He's in control of what he prepares, and though it may not be much, he is able to do his own thing in the kitchen without anyone ordering him around and without a worry in sight. Soon enough he knows he'll have to go to care for his mother, come back to clean and then look over the bills.

    ***

Ever since Dad died, it had been rough. Mom didn’t take it well. She was never the strongest of people; she was a fragile thing, and Dad knew that. He really did love her; he would always look after her and made sure she was happy. He brought her little things, stuff that had her smiling all the time. I don’t remember there ever being a time when my folks didn’t get along. Our family was pretty great, ya know? We kind of had that “all American family” thing. I’m not saying we had some white picket fence or a dog, but we were happy.

We always had each other and that was enough, but then Dad… then Dad was gone. Hit and run they said, never found who did it, not that it would matter. Dad was gone and we were left on our own. Joey had only been seven when Dad died; I was thirteen. Mom... well Mom shut down. She stopped working, stayed at home, and slept all day and night. Joey got scared, thought she had come down with something. How could I explain to him Mom was heartbroken? I wanted to tell him that ain’t no illness you can fix, once the heart breaks, it can’t ever get better. All I could do was tell the kid that Mom just needed some time to get better. Kid took my word for it, and honest to God, I once believed it too.

‘Course I was wrong. Mom never did get better. Three years and she stayed in her bed, only ever getting up to use the restroom. Didn’t take long for me to realize I had to be the man of the house. I started cooking, cleaning, caring after Joey, all of it. The one thing I couldn’t do was the bills. We were lucky Dad had some insurance thing, got us through those first three years.

However, once we ran out of that money, things had to change. I took Mom to see a doc, had to get her checked out. I wasn’t ready to lose another parent, and Joey sure didn’t deserve that. Turned out Mom had ‘major depression,’ yea that's what the doc called it. Turned out she had always had this issue about being sad, something serious. After that day, my Mom was set for pills; three each day.

Pills ain’t cheap and living ain’t cheap. Once that clock struck midnight on my sixteenth birthday I quit school and found a job at the shop. Joey got to stay in school and Mom was getting ‘better.’ Honest to God, school was never my thing. Teachers always called me stupid and I just didn’t give a damn, I had more important things to worry about. When I finally left and started working, I knew it was the best thing I could ever do. Joey was the brains of the family and I knew he was going places and Mom needed to get better, so if all I had to do was work, then why not? Didn’t think things could get worse, but of course they do.

***

The night comes to an end as Carver lays down. Bills were piling and Carver was barely making ends meet. There was only so many hours he could work at the shop and still be able to take care of home. The water and electricity bill needed to be paid soon; $100 he didn’t have. Then there was that letter he couldn’t bring himself to open, that red seal and American flag stamp. Carver knew well enough why it was there, that didn’t mean he had to acknowledge it; there were more important things to attend to.

Birds chirp in the distance and the sun peeks through the shades. The morning rushes by as Carver cooks and cares for his mother and brother. By nine a.m he rushes out the door for work, the letter with the red seal and American stamp stares at him as he leaves home.

***

The shop is quiet when I come in. Everyone looks at me like I did something wrong. Had to be boss, probably pissed I didn't finish working on the Bug last night. I ignore them, thinking if the boss is pissed he can come tell me, I ain't going to him. The Bug is still where I left it, poor thing had been beat up, but she's going to look like a beauty when I finish her. I drop my bag onto the shop's floor and get to work. Maybe boss would cut me some slack if I got to work on it right away. Strange thing, though, the shop's quiet. None of the guys are working, all of them just stare at me. Boss must be real angry if the guys are looking at me like I killed their cat or something. Some of the guys look like they feel bad for me.

Damn it, the old man was gonna fire me, thats what it was. Two years in this dump and I was going to be thrown out like trash.

I grab my bag and head over to the boss's office. If he's firing me I want to go out with a bang, give him good reason for throwing me out. The office is small and too tightly packed, it's got me feeling claustrophobic. There ain't nobody. I make my way out and that's when I see the old man, but he ain't alone. Some cop is with him and he doesn't look happy. Boss is talking to him quietly, looking around too. When his eyes land on me,  there's this fear in them. He raises his hand and points at me When the cop turns to me I just know I gotta get outta here.

There ain't no talk, I run. My things fall to the ground and all I do is run. The wind is rushing by me and my feet are carrying me away and all I'm thinking is I'm screwed.

I never was a runner, though. The cop's got me in minutes. Pushes me against a wall and cuffs me. He's talking some, but I don't pay attention. I know why he's here, ain’t no reason to hear my rights. Guy throws me into a squad car, treating me like some criminal. You’d think they’d at least be gentle. Ain’t no reason to be treating me like I did something wrong. ‘Course to them, I’m some street ‘thug’ that had no right ignoring their letters; there ain’t no rights for the likes of me.

    ***

The officers takes Carver to the station where they charge him, put him on file and throw him into a cell. No one comes to see him or asks if he's okay. He sits in his cell, head against the wall as he tries his best to settle his breathing. Worries fill him as he realizes every minute he spends in this cell, is a minute lost making money for his family. He knows exactly why he’s here. It had been a long while since he received the letter.  He knew it wasn't smart to ignore it, but he had hoped things would go away, that the war would subside.

For Carver things never really did work out.

***

"Boy get up." A cop sits outside of my cell, looking at me like I'm the gum on the bottom of his shoe. He's got this pot belly going and is eyeing me, gives me one of those ugly sneers. I smile at him, give him that charming smile of mine. He doesn't like it one bit.

    "I said get up boy, I ain't got all day.”

    "Okay okay, I heard ya pops. Don't have a damn cow.”

    "Shut that mouth of yours, son. Do you have any idea what you got yourself into? You think you're all high and mighty and don't need to sign up to fight for your country? Ungrateful bastard, that's what you are."

    I want to beat this guy, but I can't. All I do is talk back.

    "You think you know everything, don't you? Well fine, think what you want, I ain't signing up for the damn draft. I ain't going to 'nam and you ain't making me, officer."

    Guy looks at me like he's ready to beat me, probably could if he wants to, but he doesn't. Just keeps talking.

    "You got a mom at home that's sick, am I right? And don't look stunned, I read up on your file. Dad's gone, Mom's sick, and you have a little brother still in school. You dropped out of school and work now. Man of the house, aren't ya?"

    "What's it to you?"

    "Look kid, you take care of your family, I see it, but that ain't a reason not to sign up for the war. Son, if you don't sign up your sorry ass is staying here, you won't be supporting anyone."

    I'm gonna hit this guy, I'm gonna really hit this cop. Who gave him the right to look me up? This freaking government. I ain't going to give my life to this country. I just eye this guy.

    "Want to stay quiet? Fine. I'll tell your family you aren't coming home, I'm sure your Mom will understand."

    "Wait!" This guy has me, really does. Just when I thought things were bad. Maybe I'll be lucky and not get called, ya know? Maybe not... but I can't let this guy go to Mom. She wouldn't be able to handle it and I can't let Joey deal with this.

    "I'll do it," I whisper.

    "That's what I thought, son. You're doing your country good."

***

On the late afternoon of December 1st, 1969, the television plays quietly. Joey sits in the kitchen finishing homework and Carver stands by the counter, making dinner. His hands shake as he cuts the onions.

"The famous pick tonight is September 14, the first birthday that is now designated double zero one..."

Carver drops the knife, his hands shaking uncontrollably. From the corner of his eye he can still see the letter with a red seal and American flag stamp. **  
**


End file.
